


Ouroboros: A Love Story

by victoryhonorfame



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoryhonorfame/pseuds/victoryhonorfame
Summary: John and Helen had evaded Scorpia and left Alex behind with Ian. No one knew they lived except Ian, who would raise Alex until he was an adult and could join them. They wanted to give him a childhood, and a choice to not be on the run. It didn't quite work out that way.Set within the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea universe by pongnosis.Updates will be sporadic.Splitting up Ouroboros into two parts so I can get to the Alex bits quicker in the other one, so this one is the John/Helen backstory. They should work alone though.
Relationships: Helen Rider/John Rider
Comments: 27
Kudos: 64





	1. A Love Story I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222295) by [pongnosis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pongnosis/pseuds/pongnosis). 



> There will reach a point where this fic will not make sense without having previously read Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.
> 
> Heavily inspired by that work, slightly influenced by Point of Divergence as well. Essentially, I reread Devil and thought "I wonder what John would think of this" the entire time. And here you go.

_John and Helen, 1976-1977_

The first time John Rider saw Helen was at her interview at Christ’s Church College, Oxford.

She was the other side of the common room, chatting to a third or fourth year medic he’d seen around college. He thought she was really pretty. Her blonde hair caught the sun streaming through the window behind her, and her dress hugged her in just the right way to still be professional.

He was in his second year and had volunteered to chat to PPE applicants. A question from a student about how tutorials worked drew his attention away from watching her, and when he looked up again she was gone.

The second time he saw her, it was the following October and they were both moving into their rooms in college. She was in the staircase on the other side of the quad to him. This time, he wandered over and it became the first time they officially met.

The third time, Helen saw him first. He was eating breakfast in the buttery, chatting to another boy. She clutched her tray in her hands to steady her nerves before striding up to the table.

“Hello, John? May I sit here?”

John looked up and smiled, recognising her immediately. “Good morning, Helen, of course. Medicine wasn’t it? This is Simon, he’s a fresher doing PPE. How are you settling into college?”

Then they both got swept up in the chaos of Michaelmas term and trying to keep up with the workload, but they would snatch a few moments here and there when they passed each other around college. And then John began to ‘bump’ into her in the library on weekend afternoons.

A week before the end of term, they had their first date. It went well.

_Helen, February 1978_

It was just before 10pm when Helen heard the knock on the door. She was still at her desk finishing off an essay under the light of the single desk lamp. Three anatomy textbooks lay open to diagrams of the nervous supply to the forearm.

“Just a minute!” She scribbled the last few sentences down. It would have to do. She crossed the room to swing open the door, expecting to see another fresher from her staircase. “Oh, John!”

“Surprise!” He was leaning against the door frame and grinned at her as she opened the door. His dark, nondescript outfit looked out of place. He stepped in the room, glancing over the open books on the desk. “I’m rescuing you from essays.”

“Oh are you?” Helen quirked an eyebrow as she shut the door, cutting off the light from the corridor. There was enough from the desk lamp for her to negotiate around both John and the pile of textbooks in the middle of the floor to return to the desk. She flicked through the papers, putting them in order. “This one is due tomorrow before 9am, and I've got another for a tutorial at 3 which I've only drafted so far.”

“Exactly, plenty of time.” John stepped behind her, pressing up against her back. He ran his hands down her arms to encircle her wrists gently, stilling her hands. She felt a shiver when his lips brushed her bare neck as he spoke. “It’s week six and you’ve barely had a day off. A couple of hours now and you’ll be refreshed for tomorrow.”

Helen leant back against him, the feel of his chest against her back. He was warm. And he smelled so nice. And she _had_ been working all day. She twisted in his arms to face him and leaned up to kiss him quickly. “Just a few hours then. I have a dissection in the morning.”

He grinned in victory and tightened his arms before releasing her and stepping back. “You’ll need to wear comfortable dark clothes, something you can move in.”

Helen frowned and looked down at her checked pyjamas she had changed into after dinner. She hadn’t expected company, so changing was obvious, but that was an odd request. “Where are we going then?”

“That’s a surprise too. Just something practical that you can run in.”

Helen rolled her eyes at his non-answer and gave him a light push towards the door. “Okay Mr mystery, you win! Now out while I change!”

John laughed and flicked the light switch on as he let himself out. The door clicked shut behind him.

Helen smiled to herself. John was – something else. He was always exciting to be around, he always made her feel like the centre of the world. She shook her head. He couldn’t just show up unannounced and demand her attention instantly though, however much she loved it. He could wait a few minutes now. She turned back to the desk and shut the textbooks, shifting them to on top of a stack on the chest of drawers. Her essay she left on the desk, but the other notes were quickly collected and shoved into the folder.

Crossing the room to the tiny ancient wardrobe fitted in an alcove, she opened the door and rifled around the pile of clothes folded in the bottom for something suitable. Dark jeans and a navy jumper was the closest she had, they’d have to do. She slipped them on and took a minute redo her ponytail and reapply lipstick, a muted red she wore every day. Socks and trainers followed.

Helen paused for a moment, looking around the room. She shoved some dirty clothes in the washing basket in the corner, straightened the bed, tucked the bin under the desk out of sight. The stack of books in the middle of the room were shifted towards the wall. That’ll do, tidy enough if John comes back tonight, she mused. Although that depended what sort of surprise this was…

Helen slipped into her brown leather jacket, grabbed her keys and cross-body bag from the bookshelf next to the door, and exited room to find John leaning against the wall opposite, exchanging friendly small talk with the brunette girl, Katie, who lived opposite. He stood up straight when he saw Helen, giving Katie a quick goodbye as wished them to have a good evening and disappeared into her room again.

“So where are we going?” She tried to be serious but couldn’t stop the smile twitching on her lips. He smirked, shaking his head and moving towards the staircase. With an exasperated sigh, Helen locked the door and shoved her keys in her bag before following him.

Once they reached the quad below, he reached out to grasp her hand, smiling at her. Out of XXX quad, and slipping past the porters to reach the street. He turned them right, past Pembroke College and the town hall, following the street to the right and taking the small street – more like an alleyway- between the high stone walls of Brasenose College and St Mary’s Church. Helen knew this area well, like all Oxford students did. It was near the centre of the city, and she walked this route almost every day to the library, to lectures or to visit friends in neighbouring colleges.

Oxford looked vastly different at night. No tourists or cyclists to dodge, and the buildings were lit up against the night sky. It really was a pretty city.

As they neared the Radcliffe Camera, a tall dome set apart from other buildings, surrounded by metal railings, John checked behind them. They were alone.

“Trust me?” He whispered as he pulled her to the railings where they were closest to the building.

“John- I, yes, but what are you doing, you can’t break into the Radcliffe!” Helen whispered furiously at him as he climbed over the 4 foot railings.

He turned back to her and gestured for her to do the same. “Come on, we won’t get caught, trust me.”

“John Rider, if you get me in trouble-” Helen looked around once more, confirming they were alone before clambering over. She was a lot less graceful, but John steadied her as she cleared the top and helped her jump down.

“This way.” He went straight to the base of the tower, and began to climb. He was a story high in seconds. Helen looked around again, unsure, but then refocused on John. He was standing on the ledge formed between the different stone types of the tower. The bottom floor were large grey stone bricks, the first and second floors were the familiar smooth golden sandstone that made up so many of the buildings in Oxford.

She didn't have to do this, she thought, but something about John drew her forward. He was exciting, fun to be around. And she trusted him. There, decision made. Helen walked forward and placed her hands on the grey stones. Her fingers found the wide gaps between the stones, they made for strong handholds, and she bought her right leg up, wedging her toe in another gap. She looked up, took a breath and pushed her leg down, moving up the building. Ok, I can do this.

Another foot up. And another. Much slower than John, but she made it to the ledge next to him. At this level, the joins between the sandstone blocks here were smooth, so John shuffled a few steps around the tower to the square window, about four foot across and high, where the stone window surround jutted out. John climbed up to the top of the first window, and waved Helen to come up next to him. Once she drew level to the window, her feet onto the windowsill, she realised the problem too. The next window was about 3 foot above the first, with no handholds to grab to or places to put her feet between the two windows. She could stretch and reach, but she didn’t do rock climbing, she wasn’t skilled enough to go further, not like John.

“John-“

“I’ll give you a hand, just lean as close into the window as you can. ” John was quietly confident. Helen wasn’t so sure. She glanced down, at the 15, 16ft drop onto hard, unforgiving paving below. Or worse- onto the metal railings.

“I can’t do this, I’ll fall-”

“You won’t. I won’t let you. And it’ll be worth it at the top.” When he wanted something, he was so charismatic, so charming, you believed every word. Helen felt caught by him, by his presence, by the adrenaline rushing through her, by the risk, by the excitement. _Damn you John Rider. I hope I don’t regret this._

“If I die, I will haunt you forever.” She tossed at him. One hand on the next window, another held by John, she pulled herself up just high enough to get a foot on the top of the window and push herself up.

“I did it. Wow.”

“Yes you did. Wait there a second.” John effortlessly climbed up, using one foot braced against the column to his right to push upwards, while using the carved window surround to pull himself up high enough to get his left foot on the windowsill, and then smoothly he pushed his weight into that leg and rose upwards. This window was taller, allowing John to stand properly on the ledge look back down at her. “I’ll pull you up again, just get your knee up onto the windowsill.”

“On 3. 1, 2, 3-” He pulled steadily, leaning back into the window. All of Helen’s weight held by him for a moment, a moment in time when her life was held in his hands, and then. Safety. Her knee found the ledge and she scrambled up, almost falling into John in her haste.

“Steady there, you did it!” He reached behind him and fumbled with the window. To Helen’s surprise it lifted up. John hopped through, holding a hand out to guide Helen to jump down onto the floor too. She’d been inside the Radcliffe before of course, but not at night. It was deserted, pitch black inside and all locked up for the night. John pulled the window shut again.

“That one doesn’t quite latch,” he muttered, before fishing a torch out of his pocket and leading Helen towards the ‘Private only’ door across the room. “Can you hold the torch a sec?”

He rummaged in his other pocket and pulled out what must be lockpicks. Two slender metal rods with little hooks on the ends. Helen watched as he deftly manipulated the picks in the lock. It opened with an audible click and he pulled the door open to reveal a steep spiral staircase. They went up it, unbolted the door at the top, and then they were on the roof of the Radcliffe Camera, with the whole of Oxford laid out before them.

The view was stunning. It was a still, clear night, with what looked like hundreds of stars visible. And the old stone buildings that make up Oxford University were lit up against the night sky. Helen picked out Brasenose and All Souls colleges nearby, then further away she spotted Tom Tower, rising above Christ Church. The other side of the Radcliffe was the rest of the Bodleian library.

“isn't it beautiful?” John whispered in her ear, wrapping his arms around her. “No-one else gets to see this view.”

“Yes. It's perfect.”

Night climbing became a weekly, then twice-weekly occurrence for the rest of the year. Helen slowly got more and more comfortable with heights, and more skilled with climbing. They had some close calls with the porters, and on two occasions almost got caught. 

Helen had never met anyone as exhilarating at John before.

_John, May 1978_

John leaned back against the domed roof behind him. Helen was nestled into his side. The blanket he’d stashed up here earlier was wrapped around them. Far below, at the bottom of the tower, was Christ Church’s May Ball. Stalls with food, more alcohol than you could drink, music… And a firework show due to begin in a few minutes.

The crowd stirred, getting ready. They knew it would start in any moment, and some ball goers were jostling for position at the front of the crowd to get the best view. Other students who hadn’t bought tickets to the ball were hanging out of their bedroom windows to watch the show.

“Best seat in the house here.” He murmured and tightened his arms around Helen. She barely acknowledged him, eyes fixed on the sky, body taut with excitement. She still jumped at the first explosion lighting up the sky. Pops and bangs, whizzes and flashes. It was a good display, in time with the beat of the music.

Red light lit her face momentarily then green, then yellow, then a frenzied burst of bright, brilliant white. She was caught up in the show and didn’t realise he was watching her instead of the fireworks. Her eyes were wide with wonder. Mini fireworks were reflected in them.

A tight feeling clenched in his stomach.

He didn’t want to graduate this year and leave her. She was beautiful and clever and funny, and she was scared sometimes, but she still tried to keep up with him. None of the other girls he’d dated had been brave enough to attempt the climbs with him. He’d never gotten to share that with anyone else.

The fireworks finished. She sighed, and turned to him, eyes bright with excitement.

The twisting feeling remained.

She must have seen it, for her eyes dimmed and she pulled back, concerned. “John?”

“I, Helen- ” He started, then stopped. Closed his eyes a moment and steeled himself. _Do it._ “Helen, will you marry me?”

“I, John, my degree -”

“- yes, sorry, I mean. Let me start again. I love you. I want you to graduate and be a brilliant doctor, I don’t want to stop you doing that. But I’m going to Sandhurst in a few months. I don’t want this to end- I want to spend my life with you. I didn’t plan this, I haven’t got a ring yet, but…”

The moment hung in the air. The words felt clumsy in his ears. What a terrible proposal. She was going to say no. He could feel his heart thudding, and the cool slick drip of sweat between his shoulder blades. He’d never been this nervous before. It had never _mattered_ like this before.

“John- I love you too. Yes, always yes.”

Her hands on his cheeks and velvet press of her lips. The lavender scent in her hair. The relief flooding through his veins as the wind stirred around them. The roar of the crowd below. _She said_ yes _. I’ll remember this night forever._


	2. A Love Story II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta credit to El and thanks to both Valak and El for helping me through a few blocks with this one. Turns out I hate writing dialogue...
> 
> Some Oxbridge terminology you might need:  
> Plodge: short for porters lodge.  
> Porters: receptionists, security, postmen and pastoral care all rolled into one. Also the guys who will shout "get off the grass" at certain colleges...  
> Formal: the formal dinners in college wearing gowns. Think a cross between a 3 course meal at a restaurant, a school dinner and Hogwarts. Oh and often with free wine.  
> Pennying drinks: chuck a penny into someone's drink at a formal and they 'have' to down it. Banned in most colleges, not that it stops anyone.  
> DoS: Director of Studies. Basically someone within the college in charge of your academic stuff.

Michaelmas Term 1977

_Dear Helen,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and your parents are not too upset still._

_These first few weeks have been hard. We barely have more than a few minutes to ourselves; they keep us busy – I’m writing this by moonlight by the window in the barracks. So far it has been lots of physical training and gun handling, and theoretical classes in the afternoon. I am enjoying it though. It is different from college life, yet the hectic schedule has similarities!_

_I don’t know when I will get to post this, or when I can read your reply, but I want you to know I’m thinking of you._

_Yours,_

_John_

_Dear John,_

_I’m glad you’re enjoying it! I hope you were not caught in the storm last night, it looked very heavy. What do you learn in your classes?_

_I moved back into college yesterday and your letter was in my pidge – a lovely welcome home! My new room is on the top of your old staircase, the one with the squeaky door. I’m sharing with some other medics this year, so hopefully I won’t have noisy neighbours to deal with this time._

_Mother and Father are still displeased. Father barely spoke to me on the entire drive back up. I am sure they will come around though. Once you graduate Sandhurst you can visit again and hopefully he will listen this time._

_With love,_

_Helen_

_PS I hope the chocolates survived the post._

_My darling Helen,_

_The chocolates were a little battered after their journey, but lived to tell the tale until I laid hands on them. They had a good life, lived well and sacrificed themselves with dignity._

_Classes this term include military leadership and tactics, fieldcraft and basic military skills. Essentially, a bunch of men rolling around in the dirt learning to not stab themselves in the foot with the bayonet. It's all very glamorous._

_How is your term? Are you enjoying this year? I hope you're not spending too much time in the library - make sure you get some fresh air, and have some fun for me!_

_Always yours,_

_John_

_Dearest John,_

_You would have loved to see Blythe’s face today! Someone climbed up and dressed the gargoyle using his hat and gloves they'd stolen from plodge! You could hear his shouts from the other side of college, he was ever so upset._

_My staircase went to formal last week and it wasn’t the same without you - Tommy tried, but he got caught pennying one of the fellow’s drinks and got hauled into his DoS’s office the next day._

_This term is going better than last year – it’s definitely easier now I know what is expected. Week five blues are still hitting hard, but I’m not spending too much time in the library, you’d be proud! They’ve changed the lock on the Radcliffe actually, so I’m glad you taught me how to pick different types; it took a while but I managed it. The view was beautiful. It’s been really nice to escape there sometimes._

_I’m sure you look very handsome rolling around in the mud with streaks on your face. Are you still enjoying it? What are your plans over Christmas? Do you get leave during Christmas? Mother wrote, she is inviting you for New Year’s Eve if you are available._

_I’ve sent you some proper tea. I was talking to one of the demonstrators who spent some time in the army just after he graduated, and he advised that the tea provided is poor! I hope you like it – guard it well from sticky fingers though!_

_All my love,_

_Helen_

_My dearest love,_

_Did Blythe get his hat down? If he has, when I visit I’ll put it back there! Poor Tommy, Farrow is never pleasant. There’s a bit of a knack to it, tell him I’ll show him next time._

_I’m really glad you could still get up there. They never change the locks, it’s been the same one for over a hundred years! How strange. I miss watching the sun set from up there already._

_The tea is lovely. Your demonstrator was right, the tea here is more like cardboard water. And the biscuits are like cardboard. And the food. And the mattresses. Sometimes I wonder if they’re trying to kill us by starvation, but then I look around at some of the lads and realise they need to toughen a few of them up. Do you remember Wilkins, doing Classics, who tripped and fell into the gong? He’s here. I have no idea how he got past selection._

_I’ll have two weeks leave so I would love to join you for New Year's. What drinks do your parents prefer?_

_However hard this is, it is worth it. It’s a good laugh after, and the lads are great. It will be good to graduate and not have to share the showers with twenty men though!_

_With love,_

_John_

_Dear John,_

_The sunset is my favourite part. I wish you were there with me though, it’s just not the same alone. I must confess, I have been wrapping myself in your blanket when I’m up there. I miss you._

_Mother says she is expecting you from the 30 th to the 2nd. It’s always fairly wet in Wiltshire in December, so bring a decent coat and boots; we go on family walks most mornings, and Father will probably take you shooting. And you’ll need something smart for supper. Mother likes sherry and Father is partial to single malt whisky, not blended. Father can collect you from the train station if you tell us which train you will be on._

_I remember Wilkins – such a small world!_

_I’m glad you liked the tea so I’ve sent you some more and some biscuits too. That should keep you fuelled a bit more!_

_Can you reply to me at home please, I’ll be moving back in a few days. It’s been a good term but I’m so tired, I can’t wait to have a break._

_Looking forward to seeing you,_

_Helen_

_My beautiful Helen,_

_I have to write this quickly, only a few minutes to get this into the last post to get to you before Christmas. Have a merry Christmas._

_You are an angel. Davis has spotted the biscuits though, so I’ve had to share them to keep him quiet. I’d never have any to myself if they found out I had them._

_I won’t need to be collected - it was going to be a surprise to show you, but I’ve bought a car. I hope you like her._

_Not long now until I can see you again! I’ve spent far too long without you._

_Yours forever,_

_John_

30th December 1977

John pulled up to the old farmhouse gates in the dark. The sun had set a few hours ago, just after he’d left his parents' home in Colchester. John took a moment to check out the house as he opened the gates, drove through and closed them again. It was set back a little from the road, partially concealed by several trees, but looked to be a small traditional farmhouse with a more recent brick addition on the side. The entire ground floor was lit up, the windows throwing squares of light across the gravel.

A dog started barking - it must have heard him at the gate - and a curtain twitched in one window. A face briefly flashed into view. _Helen._

John hopped back into the sportscar, a two-year-old convertible TR6 he’d bought only last week and still marvelled over, and quickly drove the last few metres up the driveway, gravel crunching under tyres. Helen flew out the door and ran to him, but a fat golden lab barged past and launched itself in the air at John, slamming him back into the seat.

“Riley, no, come here! I’m sorry John, he likes people too much-”

John laughed as he wrestled the dog back out of the car so he could get out a second time. “Don’t worry, he’s a good boy.”

“Oh, is this your car? She’s beautiful, John, such a pretty colour.”

“Yes, well, she’s our car.”

And there, that look. That was why he'd bought her – so Helen would look at him like that, shock and happiness just radiating out – and then she threw herself at him, just like the dog had. But with kisses he quite enjoyed this time.

And then the dog squirmed in between them, demanding attention.

“Riley! That’s enough now, you silly dog!”

John laughed and released Helen to pet the dog. “Riley, was it? You like a scratch, huh? Well, you can have plenty in the next few days once you let me inside.”

“Father is in the sitting room before dinner. I’ll introduce you once we stow your bag away in the guest room.”

John followed Helen inside, carrying his bag. Most of the original features had been removed, following the fashion in the last few decades to modernise everything, but the old flagstones remained in most of the downstairs - a practical choice, in the countryside and with a dog. The house was full of brightly coloured soft furnishings and dark woods against whitewashed plaster. Helen led him up the old, creaking staircase to the first room on the right. 

“The bathroom is next door. Mine is down the hallway, but Mother won’t be happy catching you further down the landing, so please don’t.” 

He set the bag down on the bed and stepped towards his fiancee. “Helen darling, I won’t do anything to upset them. I want them to approve of me, I want them to be happy for us. I know they weren’t pleased I didn’t ask for permission first, because it was a spur of the moment proposal, so I want to make them realise I’m serious. I won’t jeopardise that.” 

“Ok. You’re right, I’m just... they’re… It’s just the past two weeks since I arrived home, Father has been difficult the entire time. I’m sure they’ll warm up soon, though. Everyone in college loved you, even the porters when you trampled the grass. It’ll be fine.”  
  
They embraced briefly, then headed back downstairs and across the hall to an antique wooden door, painted white. Helen opened it with some difficulty - it was partially jammed in the frame - and they entered the sitting room. Riley slunk in with them to flop at the feet of the man in his mid-fifties who sat in the airchair closest to the fire. He looked up at their approach and set his paper down, but didn’t stand. 

“Father, this is John Rider. John, this is my father, Alfred.”

“Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” John stepped forward, smiling warmly, hand outstretched. A moment’s pause, then Alfred stood up too and shook it firmly. 

“Don’t call me sir, it’s not the army here. Sit.” He waved at the sofa opposite. 

“I‘m going to check in on Mother and see if she needs any help. John, do you want a drink?” 

“Just water please, love.” 

Alfred’s frown deepened. _Wrong choice then - or perhaps it was the endearment?_

“So you drove here from...?”

“My parents' house, from Colchester.”

“I see. Are they married? What does your father do? Any siblings?” 

“Yes, they’re married. Dad’s an accountant, he studied for it after the war. I have a younger brother, Ian; he just started at Cambridge this year.”

“Hmm.”

They were interrupted by Helen poking her head around the door. “Father, Mother says dinner is in a few minutes if you’d like to move to the dining room.”

“Very well.”

John stood and followed Alfred in silence. Helen waited for her father to pass her and reached out to squeeze John's hand. 

The dining room was back across the entrance hall - patterned carpet, dark stained panelling on the walls, the table already laid. Alfred went straight to the chair at the head of the table. Another door in the room opened directly onto the kitchen, and Helen gave John's hand another squeeze as a woman stepped through carrying a large serving tray piled with dishes. 

“Mother, this is John. John, my mother.”

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Beckett. This looks wonderful.”

“Mother always was the best cook. She taught me everything I know.”

“I certainly hope so, if this is what I get to look forward to,” John said with a smile. But there was a strangled silence and Helen’s smile faltered; John shot her a helpless look and tried again. “Can I help bring something to the table?”

“No, thank you, please, have a seat. And do call me Florence,” she all but ordered, and John hesitantly took the seat across from Alfred, praying that he'd made the right choice. He didn’t earn a frown, which was an improvement. 

“You mentioned your father went into accounting after the war… I take it that he served as well?”

“Yes, s... Alfred.” He caught himself, but Alfred didn’t miss the pause. 

“I see… a family tradition?”

“Only him and me. Ian’s thinking about it, but hasn’t made up his mind yet.” 

“Did your mother meet him while he was in the service?”

“Actually they grew up in the same town. She worked in a factory while he was serving; they wrote almost every day during the war.”

“What a lovely story,” Florence chimed in. _Finally, something positive._

“Yes, quite, you just don’t hear of men in the military staying faithful all that often.” 

_Or not._

“Alfred!” Florence hissed. “We talked about this.” 

“Of course, Florence. My apologies, John.”

“No offense taken, Alfred.” He pasted a genial smile on his face. It was a lie, and from Helen’s frown at her father she could see clear through it, but they all needed to get along. John had no idea how he was going to make it through this dinner, let alone three days, at this rate. He glanced back up at Helen, who shot him a smile. Oh, that was how. 

“John, why don’t you say grace?” Florence asked. John froze. 

“Mother, please, don’t put him on the spot like that, it’s not fair.” Helen interceded. _I knew I loved her for a reason._

“He’s at Oxford - surely he’s smart enough to throw together a prayer.” 

“Father!”

“It’s alright, Helen. Umm... Thank you, Lord, for this day, and for um bringing us together, and... Bless the food and the hands that have prepared it. Amen.” 

“Are you Protestant, John?”

“Father! Can you pass the potatoes, please?” Helen tried to distract him without success. 

“My mum is. Dad isn’t religious.”

“And you?” the man pressed.

“Father! This is not an inquisition.”

“He is marrying my daughter; I think it’s only right for me to ask some questions.”

“We have all weekend,” Helen said stiffly. And that was not comforting to John in the slightest.

“Well, this probably should have taken place before you became betrothed...”

Helen’s mother cut in before Alfred could resume the questioning. “So, John, how are you finding the army - it was Sandhurst, wasn’t it, not enlisted?” 

“Yes, I’ll be a commissioned officer when I graduate in the summer.”

“That’s good, it would be a shame to lose bright young men on the front lines. What regiment are you planning on joining?” 

“Possibly the para-” Helen motioned for him to stop but it was too late. 

“The Parachute Regiment?” Alfred questioned. “Well, there’s no future there, they’re all fighting in Ireland against the rebels.” 

“Alfred!” 

He acquiesced this time, and they began to eat in an uncomfortable, choking silence, only punctuated by the sounds of cutlery on china and the occasional request to pass a bowl. 

“This is lovely, Florencet.”

“Thank you, John.”

They lapsed back into silence again, until Alfred finished eating and resumed his interrogation. 

“You must pay attention to the news then, if you read PPE. What’s your view on the strikes this winter and the pay cap?”

“Alfred!” Florence snapped. 

“Florence,” he returned just as stiffly. 

“Why don’t you go grab some scotch and I will prepare a glass of ice for you,” she said as she stood and brushed her dress down smartly.

“Yes, I think that is a fantastic idea.” Alfred sniffed and stalked back through the entrance hall, presumably to the sitting room.

John just met Helen’s alarmed gaze. She mouthed "sorry" and flinched as her mother slammed a cabinet open in the kitchen. 

He just mouthed back "it’s okay" and reached under the table for her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Another slam in the kitchen. An accompanying one in the sitting room. They pretended not to hear the whispered argument in the entrance hall and awkwardly smiled at each other. When Helen's parents filed back into the room a few minutes later, Alfred’s cut glass tumbler was already almost empty. 

“Now, John,” Florence began as she retook her chair. “Why don’t you tell us about how you two met? Helen’s told us, of course, but I’m sure she exaggerated a little.”

“Of course - well, I guess it started when I saw her across the room when she was at her interview...” As he told the story, with Helen interrupting frequently and adding her side, Alfred sniffed disapprovingly over his tumbler, earning sharp looks from Florence. 

“That’s lovely.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes - clearly her patience was wearing thin with her husband. 

“Do you mind if I ask, how did you two meet?”

“Of course not, although I’m surprised Helen didn’t mention it. I was a typist for his father’s company and I was working late over a stack of documents that just had to be finished that evening. Alfred was a gentleman and walked me home, and the rest is history, as you might say.”

“That’s so sweet,” John said. Alfred sniffed again at that.

“It’s nothing special, that’s how things are supposed to work. I would hope that you aren’t letting Helen walk home alone at night.” 

“Of course not, sir.” John hurried to defend himself. 

“Alfred,” the man corrected and John repressed a wince. 

“Of course, Alfred. Helen and I were both at Christ Church, so we would walk back together a lot. Now I’ve graduated I won’t be there, of course, but with the car things’ll be easier to visit.”

“I saw that... thing out the window. Very sporty.” He clearly disapproved; it was written over his entire face. 

“It’s for town and motorways really, but she made it pretty well on the roads out here too.” 

“New, I take it?”

“Just shy of two years old.” 

“Not very good resale value on it. Must not have listened to your old man; as an accountant I would expect he would have taught you better.”

“As I recall, Alfred,” Helen’s mother interrupted. “Your first car wasn’t exactly the most sensible either. It got stuck on the road to work nearly every day, until you finally gave up and swapped it in.”

“Really, mother?” Helen smiled. 

“Oh, definitely. I can’t tell you how many pairs of heels I ruined in mud, and he had to keep a spare set of clothes and shoes just to be presentable at work.”

“Yes well, some things couldn’t be helped,” Alfred muttered, embarrassed. “Money was tight at the beginning when we met and…” 

“It would have been less tight if you’d bought a practical car instead of a pretty one. And hadn't spent all that money getting it repaired, after you put it into the ditch by the old farmhouse after drinking too much in the pub.” 

“Father, really?!” Helen laughed behind her napkin, while John desperately tried to keep a straight face. 

“Your mother straightened me out when we got married. No more fun after that,” Alfred groused, but there was a smile behind it, and John thought they just might survive this after all. Then his gaze turned back to John, cold as ice, and he realised with complete certainty, Alfred Beckett hated him. 

In the privacy of the bathroom that evening, John exhaled and leaned back against the door. A knock interrupted his thoughts.

“John, are you in there? I’ve got a washcloth for you here.”

He spun around and opened the door quickly to find Helen standing right outside.

“Helen, he hates me! Nothing I did was right – and he disagreed with everything I said. Even the weather!”

“He’s just a bit prickly, John, he’ll warm up soon.” She looked back over her shoulder down the stairs. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then stepped back and handed him the washcloth and a towel. “Make sure you don’t miss breakfast in the morning, it’s at 8. Father will walk Riley first, so if you are downstairs before 7 you might be able to catch him. He likes early risers.”

“I can do that.”

“Mother is a little trickier. She won’t tell you how she actually feels; she likes to be a perfect host. Perhaps in the afternoon, when Father is in the study, you can talk to her over tea? I think she worries I will drop out; maybe you can tell her that’s not an issue.”

“Is that what she thinks? Of course I can talk to her about it, convince her I want nothing more than for you to be a successful doctor.”

“Thank you, John. I’m sure it’ll work out; I think they both just need time to get to know you. They’re just a bit surprised I met someone so quickly, I think.”

“I hope so, Helen. I want them to like me.” 

“I know. I’m sure they will one day, and they’ll realise how amazing you are.”

They didn’t.

The truth was, they hated even the idea of John Rider. They hated the car he drove, the clothes he wore, the way he talked, the fact he had joined the military, that his parents had grown up working class. 

Most of all, they hated the way Helen looked at him, like he was her sun. 


End file.
